A Screwed Up Relationship
by MadScientistGirl
Summary: How a screwed up friendship becomes something more. HouseWilson in later chapters. Final Chapter! Chapter 7: Another Hospital Fundraiser
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own nothing. Don't sue.

Summary: Can a screwed up friendship become something more? Eventually HouseWilson.

Chapter 1: Disturbing numbers

When Wilson thought about how screwed up his life had become, he frequently blamed Dr. Cameron. Even in his worst moments, he realized that blaming her was completely unjustified. It's just that when he had walked past the booth at the oncology conference, the med student had resembled Dr. Cameron so much, that he had automatically sat down and began filling out the consent form for their study to correlate stress, as indicated by blood pressure, with medical discipline. She wrapped the cuff around his arm and took his BP with the efficiency of much practice. He was about to compliment her on her bedside manner, when she looked up with undisguised worry in her eyes. "I think maybe Chris should take the reading again," she suggested.

"What are the numbers?" Wilson asked gently, holding her gaze when she would have looked away.

"150 over 95, but maybe I did something wrong," she said, reaching for some explanation for the high numbers.

"No you didn't, but it's OK if you would like to call in your colleague for a consult." His voice was calm, but inside his thoughts were racing. Ok—not in the automatic heart attack range yet, but not good. Especially seeing how he had been away from the everyday stress of his job for the last four days. He tried to relax as the other med student came over to repeat the test.

"155 over 95," the kid said.

Damn. Not even a resident and already he has learned how to deliver bad news while sounding like a robot.

He was getting up from the chair when the Cameron doppelganger stopped him, her hand on his shoulder. She glanced down at his conference badge. "Dr. Wilson, promise me that you'll see someone about this." Even the worry lines between her eyebrows resembled Cameron, and he found himself promising that he would see someone as soon as he returned home.

Five days later, he was sitting in the office of Dr. Phillip Andrews, an acquaintance who conveniently had an office in the medical building across the street from PPTH. Wilson had taken care to schedule the appointment in the middle of House's clinic hours. No reason to have to answer all the unnecessary questions that would ensue if House found out. Phil looked down at the lab results spread in front of him. "As for your bloodwork, the lipid panel looks good. Your EKG looks fine. Only your blood pressure is out of range. How's your diet, exercise?"

"Fairly healthy. Couple of beers, a few times a week." Usually with House, he didn't add. "Treadmill for 25 minutes, three times a week."

Phil thought for a minute. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Wilson blinked at the apparent non sequitur, and then answered, "no one since the divorce. It's kind of nice to just be single for a while."

Phil laughed and shook his head. "No, I mean a therapist." At Wilson's horrified look, he continued, "I'd like to try to find and treat the underlying cause, rather than just put you on pills for the rest of your life."

"But a therapist?" Wilson was floundering.

"You're an oncologist, for Christ sake! And if that wasn't bad enough, you're head of the entire department, so tack on administrative crap as well. Add to that your choice in friends, and you are headed for your first heart attack by the age of 50." When Wilson was looking sufficiently cowed, he handed over a card. "She's good, so give it a try for a couple of months. Monitor your BP daily, and if it hasn't come down, then we'll start you on a diuretic."

Wilson finally nodded and took the business card.

Dr. Christina Peterson, Ph.D.

Licensed Therapist

counseling, alternative medicine, relaxation techniques,

acupuncture, chakra balancing

Oh shit! What the hell had he gotten himself into? It was all Cameron's fault.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: Thank you to those that reviewed. I really appreciate it.

Disclaimer: Still don't own House. Don't sue.

Chapter 2: A house of cards

Somehow, by some miracle, Wilson had managed to keep the fact that he was going to a new-aged therapist from House for almost three weeks. He found that the sessions weren't as bad as he had expected. During that time, he had talked about his job, his marriages, and even his friendship with House. He was even seeing his BP numbers trending down ever so slightly, and he was almost ready to admit that this therapy thing was a good idea. And then two things happened that were guaranteed to send his numbers through the roof.

The first thing seemed innocent enough at the time. His administrative assistant had caught him when he was coming out of a consult, and informed him that Dr. Peterson had a family emergency and that she needed to reschedule their appointment for today. Unfortunately, she had delivered the message in front of House, who had immediately picked up on the unfamiliar name.

"So who's Dr. Peterson? No one in this hospital by that name."

Wilson inwardly cringed at the question, and said the first lie he could think of. "Oncology doc at Princeton General who wanted a second opinion on a case." He turned to his somewhat baffled assistant. "Don't worry. I'll reschedule the appointment." He then determinedly turned back to continue his conversation with House, praying that House's lie detecting abilities were not up to their usual strength.

The second event was clearly a disaster by any standards, and unexpectedly happened when he was least prepared for it. It was in the middle of his newly rescheduled session, when the words, "I don't think I am gay" had come out of his mouth. What the hell? How did that happen?

During their sessions, Wilson had come to appreciate that Dr. Peterson, despite all of the new age crap she sometimes spouted, was an extremely perceptive person. She had not reacted to his somewhat unexpected statement, but nodded, and asked, "so what makes you so sure you're straight." It had been easy enough to talk about his wives, his first crush on Emily when he was twelve, what he liked about women. And then came the hard question, "so why might you think you're gay?"

Wilson sighed, and then finally admitted that he had been having fantasies about House for a while. Some had been fairly innocent, silly even, such as when he and House had been watching Say Anything, and he had fallen asleep and dreamed that he had been outside of House's apartment, holding a boom-box, blasting "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel. Others were not as innocent. The other day, he had been in the conference room with House, looking at an MRI of a patient, when he had suddenly had the urge to taste the skin at the back of House's neck. He had even moved closer, and then had to pretend that it was just to look at the film. There had been other, similar instances, and he described all of them to Dr. Peterson.

When he finished, she asked what he thought it meant. He tried to avoid the question, but she kept gazing back at him, waiting for an answer. Finally he answered her question with one of his own. "Can I possibly be in love with Gregory House?"

But answers were not forthcoming from her. "I don't know. Maybe. What do you think?"

"But I'm not attracted to men."

"But you are attracted to House, right?" she prompted.

"Yeah. But how can I be attracted to a man, when I'm not attracted to men? It makes no sense."

"Yes, but love doesn't always make sense. We don't always fall in love with the people we think we should fall in love with."

He would think about her calm words in the coming week, but they were often drowned out by another voice in his head that asked, "but what if House finds out?" It definitely did not do good things for his blood pressure.

TBC

Next chapter: Wilson's secret is revealed


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Don't own nothing. Don't sue.

Chapter 3: A first kiss

A week later, Wilson came into his office and found House leaning against the edge of the desk. The look of satisfaction on his face should have warned Wilson that the next conversation was not going to be one he would enjoy. "Did you know, there's only one Dr. Peterson at Princeton General, who is an ophthalmologist. Unless Robert Peterson has recently had a sex change, I don't think that is the "she" that you had a consult with last week."

Immediately Wilson felt his stomach clench. "You know, House, I really don't have time for this now. I've got a board meeting in five minutes."

House pretended like he hadn't heard Wilson. "There is, however, a Dr. Christina Peterson, a therapist with an office just outside of Princeton. She's got some interesting theories on how to fix me. She talked a lot about not being defined by my pain, learning how to achieve balance and distance. Of course, she completely lost me when she started talking about chakras and aromatherapy."

"I don't believe this. You went to see my therapist?"

House exclaimed triumphantly, "so you admit that she's your therapist."

But Wilson was not to be diverted. "You went to see my therapist? Don't you respect any boundaries?"

"You know me, boundaries aren't really my thing."

"I do know you." Wilson looked at him in growing horror. "You bastard. You've read my file. Oh God, you really did it." He closed his eyes and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a classic Wilson gesture used in times of extreme stress. "You must have laughed your ass off when you found out I'm in love with you."

His eyes were still closed, and so he missed the look of shock mingled with hope that flashed across House's face. By the time Wilson opened his eyes and was scowling at his supposed best friend, the look had been replaced with neutral indifference.

Wilson's mortification had been replaced with anger. "So did you enjoy the fantasies? Hope she remembered to write all of them down for you. You can go to hell." He turned towards the door, but was stopped by the hand that clamped down on his arm. His exclamation of indignation was cut off when House's lips descended to meet his. Wilson made a strangled sound of surprise and pleasure when House's tongue slipped into his mouth. For a moment, Wilson could only concentrate on the physical sensations that were overloading his brain: the bookcase that was digging painfully into his spine, the strangeness of kissing someone that was taller than he was, the feel of a man's body pressed against his.

He was not to remain a passive participant for long. His arms came around Greg, one arm at the waist and the other at his neck, pulling the older man even closer. His tongue circled Greg's, before he moved to do some exploration of the other man's mouth. The kiss was purely carnal—arms, lips and tongues doing battle for dominance, and then abruptly it was over. House stepped back, and Wilson found himself gripping the bookshelf for support, trying to remember the mechanics of breathing.

"So are you ready to go back to safe land of heterosexuality?"

House words should have been sarcastic, even insulting, but Wilson could see them for what they were, a hastily constructed wall to insulate Greg from pain. He was withdrawing, rebuilding the defenses of hostility and sarcasm that he had perfected over the years.

In response, Wilson leaned over to brush his lips against Greg's, a kiss of tenderness rather than raw sexuality. Their only other point of contact was the hand that he had placed on House's shoulder. Only when he felt the taunt muscles relax under his fingers, did the kiss deepen into a lazy exploration of each other's mouths. It could have gone on forever, if they hadn't been interrupted by the shrill sound of Wilson's pager. "Ignore it," mumbled House, but Wilson was starting to come back to reality. "Shit! It's probably Cuddy, wondering where I am." He looked at his pager. "Damn, I was right. I was supposed to be in the board room five minutes ago."

"What time will you be finished?" House asked.

"Six P.M., at the latest."

"Then I will see you at 6:30 at my place." House leaned over to kiss a startled Wilson one last time, before pushing him toward the door. "Don't be late." His voice was deadly serious,

Wilson nodded, and then bolted out of the office and started sprinting down the hall toward the elevator.

House watched him leave, and then leaned over to pick up the cane that had fallen to the floor sometime during their make-out session. He limped around the desk, and then lowered himself into Wilson's chair, where he sat, head resting on his cane, making plans, considering his options.

He was about to push himself out of the chair, when the partially open drawer caught his attention. Without thinking, he pulled it open far enough so that the BP cuff and the sheet of notepaper were visible. He could see that the paper was covered with Wilson's untidy scrawl. He looked over the list of dates and readings, which ranged from 145/80 up to 155/95, with too many of the latter in the last week or so. In his mind, he could picture Wilson sitting alone at his desk, the BP cuff wrapped around his right bicep, his left hand holding the inflating bulb while keeping the stethoscope placed at the crook of his arm. Calmly writing the readings down before getting up to attend to the needs of others.

"Damnit, Wilson, why didn't you tell me?" House whispered to the empty room.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: I would like to apologize to everyone who was following this story when I abruptly stopped posting. My brain was taken over by a story that has consumed me for the last 3 years. As a result, I never got around to finishing this one. I promise that the rest of this fic has been written, and I plan on posting the remaining chapters over the next few weeks. I will not leave you hanging. I promise.

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue

Chapter 4: Greg and James

It was 6:13 when House heard the key turn in the front door lock. Either the board meeting had gotten out extremely early (unlikely) or Wilson had broken several traffic laws on the way here. House smiled, and pushed himself out of the chair he was sitting in so that he was standing by the door when Wilson entered the apartment.

"You have a choice. We can either pretend that this afternoon never happened and we can sit on the couch and watch last night's episode of the L Word, or we can continue what we started. In the bedroom." His words made it clear that talking was not to be one of the options. "So… couch or bedroom?"

Wilson swallowed convulsively and seemed to be incapable of speech. House turned and began walking toward the bedroom, and behind him, he heard Wilson drop his briefcase and follow him.

Two hours later, House reluctantly returned to consciousness. He looked at the clock and estimated that he had been asleep for less than 20 minutes, but his leg was beginning to make its presence known. Damn, the Vicodin wasn't in its usual spot on the nightstand; he'd been a bit preoccupied at the time to worry about it. He tried to ignore his leg as he turned to look at the naked man in his bed. In sleep, James looked to be around twelve, all worry lines smoothed from his face and sleeping with his hand folded under his cheek. His gaze traveled lower to the sheet at James's waist, as if he had been too worn out to pull it any higher. It hid the lower half of his body from Greg's view, but it didn't matter because he was now intimately acquainted with every inch of his lover's skin.

It was strange to think that after all these years as friends, he and James were now lovers. He smiled at his thoughts; for sometime tonight they had ceased to be House and Wilson, but had become Greg and James. For so long, even in his thoughts he had kept his distance; always Wilson, never James. He'd flirted with the younger man, passing it off as a joke, knowing that nothing would ever come of his desires. Always consciously editing his stories so that Wilson would never suspect that some of the hookers were in fact men, or else he might suspect the truth behind the outrageous suggestions and innuendo. Hide the truth by making it sound like a lie. It was how he had hidden his desire for James for years. Until everything had changed this afternoon.

He cursed his leg as the pain intruded, interrupting his lazy post-coital ruminations. Damn, the Vicodin couldn't be put off any longer. He swung his legs off the bed, but realized his cane was not in its usual place next to the nightstand. He limped to the end of the bed, where he found it buried in a pile of discarded clothing. Wilson was going to have a fit when he saw the wrinkles in his shirt, but House left it where it lay, enjoying the thought of their clothing intermingling on the floor. He smirked; before today, he would have sworn that Wilson had never had a queer thought in his life, but he certainly had not shown any reticence about shedding his clothes, or helping House out of his.

He pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, and shuffled out to the living room to find his pills. While he waited for the narcotics to kick in, he made a phone call. His leg had finally settled down to a dull ache when the doorbell rang. He picked up his wallet and went to open the door for the delivery guy, who was looking confused. "Where's the other guy?" the kid asked.

"What other guy?"

"Well, usually when you order chicken low mein, the other guy pays. He's a better tipper," the kid suggested hopefully.

"Well, given that the big tipper is naked and asleep in my bed, you're stuck with me," House explained, handing over the cash and enjoying the shocked look on the kid's face.

He closed the door and went back to the bedroom, where Wilson was beginning to stir. "Was that the door?" he asked. "I thought I heard voices."

"Dinner just arrived," explained House, sitting down on the bed next to Wilson, effectively cutting off the easiest escape route.

Wilson waited patiently, wondering what Greg was up to. He watched as his lover pulled open the bottom drawer of the nightstand and pulled out – oh good grief – a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope. "Is this some sort of weird fetish I should know about?"

But House refused to talk to him until he finished taking the reading. "138 over 85," he reported. At Wilson's befuddled look he explained, "I had to make sure you were medically fit for further sexual activity. I assume your blood pressure is the reason you started seeing a therapist." At Wilson's nod, he asked, "is there anything else you aren't telling me? What about the fantasies?"

"Dr. Peterson's notes weren't detailed enough?" Wilson asked, trying to summon some form of exasperation.

For once, House was caught in a trap of his own making. "The thing is, I never read your file." Wilson's jaw dropped, and House continued. "She had me pegged from the minute I walked in the door. No way was she going to leave me alone anywhere near patient files. Believe me I tried."

Wilson was flabbergasted. "You lied? You let me think…" he couldn't finish the thought.

"Yeah. Everyone lies. Are you going to complain about how things worked out?"

"No, it's just…" Wilson sighed. "It's been a surprising day, that's all."

"Well, we can do something completely normal, if that will make you feel better – Chinese food and the L-word."

"As long as making out on the couch isn't completely forbidden."

Greg leered, and used the nightstand to help push himself off the bed. He tossed Wilson a pair of sweats and a Grateful Dead t-shirt. He was almost to the doorway when he casually mentioned, "by the way, I think Joe thinks we're sleeping together."

"Who the hell is Joe?"

"Delivery guy from the Wok Shop."

"His name is Steve, and why would he think we are involved?"

"I told him you were naked in my bed, but he probably didn't believe me."

Wilson shook his head. Typical House, always going for the shock value.

Like they had done so many evening, they sat on the leather couch, eating directly out of the Chinese takeout containers. When the cartons were empty, they sat side by side watching television. After a while, James moved so that he was leaning against Greg, and eventually, Greg shifted so that his arm was encircling the younger man. It was after midnight when they moved off the couch and went to bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you to everyone who reviewed this story. Here is another chapter, just to show that I am serious about updating this story in a timely manner.

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.

Chapter 5: Crisis

Cameron finally tracked down Wilson after his last patient of the day. Seeing the look on her face, he immediately asked, "what's wrong?"

"It's House. He's locked both doors to his office and has been out on the balcony for two hours."

Wilson looked out the window at the rain that had been pouring down all day. "It's barely above freezing out there. What happened?"

"I don't know. He's been in a terrible mood all day. Yelling, being sarcastic. Even for House, it has been bad. Our patient is a twelve-year old girl, and he yelled at her and her parents. She was crying, and then he just turned and left the room, went back to his office and locked the doors. He's been out on the balcony ever since. He's just standing there in the rain."

"Is it his leg?"

Allison thought for a moment. "I don't think so. Nothing like two days ago, when he couldn't sit down for over a minute because he was in so much pain."

Wilson nodded, remembering. It had been a bad 24 hours. The weather had suddenly shifted, and the remaining thigh muscle in House's right leg had knotted up completely. House, being House, had refused to say anything to Wilson in the morning, and it was halfway through the day before he had sensed anything was out of the ordinary. Damn his stubbornness. Only after half a bottle of scotch, luring House into a shower, and 40 gallons of hot water later, had the muscles stopped spasming enough for him to get some sleep. Wilson sighed; today's symptoms weren't pain, at least not of a physical kind. "How's your patient?"

"She's stable and starting to respond to treatment."

"Then why don't you and the team go home. I'll deal with House," Wilson suggested.

"Are you sure? I can stick around," Cameron suggested.

"No. Once I get him off the balcony, it is probably best if he doesn't see anyone. Believe me, this is the best way."

Finally she nodded. He watched her gather up her things in the conference room and head toward the elevator. As soon as the rest of the team was gone, he walked back to his office. He locked the door behind him, and walked out into the rain. He climbed over the low wall separating their balconies, and moved over to where House was standing motionless at the railing.

"Leave me alone."

When Wilson reached out to touch Greg's shoulder, he was stopped by a single word. "Don't."

"Please," he begged. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's just not going to work."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You. Me." He paused, and then whispered, "us."

Wilson felt the hot tears sliding down his cheeks, intermingling with the icy raindrops falling from the sky. "Then what has the last three weeks been about?"

For the first time, House turned to look over at the younger man. There was anguish in his voice, "don't you get it! I'm not going to change! You can't fix me!"

"Is that what you think I want from you? Damnit Greg, I'm your best friend! Don't you think I know you're not going to change! Hell, the last time I tried to change you, you broke your own hand and got slugged by an irate father. Believe me, I'm not going to try that again!"

"So you haven't been monitoring my Vicodin intake?"

"It's not because I think you have a problem." When House would have made a comment, Wilson cut him off. "Damnit Greg! It's the only way I have of judging how much pain you're in. Sometimes I can tell by watching you move, but you hide it from everyone. Even me." He sighed. "So yes, I count the pills." He tried a joke. "It's not like being miserable is a good diagnostic indicator for you."

The joke fell flat. "So why do you stay? You've said it yourself: I'm a miserable, selfish bastard. Maybe I can pretend to be different for a while, but that's not going to change. Maybe all we've done is take a 'stupid, screwed up friendship' and exchange it for an even more screwed up relationship."

Wilson cringed as his own thoughtless words were thrown back at him, and he suddenly realized that this moment would determine the rest of his life. If he could not make Greg believe, it would be the end of everything—their relationship and probably their friendship as well. "Has it ever occurred to you that I am just as much of a selfish bastard as you are?" He continued on when House would have interrupted him. "I've been divorced three times. Three! I cheated on the first two, and would have on the third except she beat me to it. I didn't care enough for them to remain faithful. I married Julie already having admitted to myself that at the slightest excuse, I would be at the hospital or at your place, because those are the two places I feel happiest. To hell with the fact that I was condemning her to a life of overcooked dinners, missed engagements, and a lonely bed. And yet I married her. So do you still think I am such a prize? Maybe we deserve each other! You are arrogant, rude, and verbalize every thought that crosses your brain. At the same time, the things that drive me nuts about you are also what I admire most. You don't spend your life second-guessing your choices. You know what's right for your patient, and you do anything to make it happen, regardless of what rules or laws you break. You're outspoken to a fault, but one always knows where they stand with you."

Throughout this speech, House had continued to stand at the railing, staring sightlessly over the rainy landscape, and Wilson began to fear that his words were not getting through. He took a deep breath, hoping that he could find the words that would penetrate. "A while back, before I admitted how I felt about you, Dr. Peterson asked me why I was your friend. She asked what I got out of the friendship. I'd never put it into words before, but I realized that with you, I didn't have to pretend to be the perfect person that everyone else seems to think I am. Even my ex-wives seem to have bought into the myth of Saint Wilson. I have spent my whole life trying to live up to the expectations of everyone: my parents, my wives, my colleagues. You never bought into the bullshit. Do you know how freeing that is? With you, I can be myself. Maybe that doesn't seem very important, but…"

His voice trailed off, and then a bit of anger crept into his voice. "Maybe our relationship _is_ screwed up. Maybe it doesn't make sense to anyone else but us. I don't care, because right now, it makes sense to me. I'm happy, and maybe," his voice broke. "Maybe it makes you a little happy too." He bit his lip, and stared out into the rain.

They both stood at the railing, shoulder to shoulder, not speaking, until finally, House whispered, "I love you."

Wilson sagged with relief. "I love you too." For the first time he noticed that he was soaked to the skin, and he began shivering. "Now can we get out of the rain?"

"Yeah. I think we have reached our quota for heart-felt conversations." Wilson had to smile at the sarcasm in House's words. Things were back to normal. Or at least normal by the standards of their relationship.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, or added this story to your favorites list. This is the penultimate chapter (isn't penultimate a great word?). I can't believe that there is only one chapter after this. For some reason, this chapter was hard to write. Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 6: Number 7

It was after 9 AM when House opened his eyes and squinted at the alarm clock. He turned over and looked at James, who was awake but clearly in no hurry to get out of bed. "Shouldn't you be at work already?"

Wilson stretched lazily. "I have a morning appointment with Phil Anderson."

"The cardiologist? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. He insisted on a follow up appointment."

"What will you tell him about why your BP numbers have dropped dramatically?"

Wilson shrugged. "I guess I could tell him that the therapist helped."

"And have him think that all that new age crap works? You're a disgrace to science."

Wilson pretended to think. "Well then, I guess I will have to admit that I was suffering from unrequited love and all the sex must be having a positive effect."

House smirked. "Speaking of sex…."

James grimaced. "Three times in less than 24 hours. Yeah right. Then I really would need a cardiologist. No, I had other plans for the morning."

House quirked an eyebrow. "What kind of plans? I need to be at work in less than an hour."

Wilson snorted. "Like punctuality is on of your strong suits?" He paused, considering. "Of course, you've been on time for the past three weeks. People are probably starting to wonder what's going on."

"OK, so we're playing hooky this morning, but we're not having sex. What do you have in mind?" he asked, intrigued.

"Why don't you take your shower and then you'll see what I have planned."

House limped to the bathroom, completely unconcerned with his nakedness. Wilson admired the view, and then began making preparations.

When House stepped out of the shower, moving with slightly more ease than he had entered, he saw that Wilson had dragged a chair into the bathroom. As he wrapped a towel around his waist, he eyed the items laid out on the sink. "What the hell?"

"I thought we could try something different."

"A straight razor? Are we trying a blood-letting today?"

"No just a clean, close shave."

House eyed Wilson warily. "You're going to shave me with a straight razor? Are you nuts? You use an electric razor when you shave yourself!"

"Don't think of it as shaving. Think of it as being pampered for a change. I didn't think you'd go for a manicure."

"And having my neck sliced open is just part of the fun?"

"Hey, I know what I'm doing. I've been practicing."

"How?" House asked, suddenly jealous at the thought of James touching another man, even if it was just to shave him.

Wilson seemed to have picked up these thoughts, for he quickly explained. "Relax! It was just one of my patients. Mr. Dubowsky is 95 years old."

House quirked an eyebrow as he sunk into the waiting chair. "And how did you explain it?" he asked, knowing Wilson wouldn't have told anyone the real reason.

"I lied and said that my dad had broken his arm and I wanted to help him out."

House smiled at Wilson's inventiveness, leaning back and allowing Wilson to drape a towel over his chest. Wilson carefully applied the shaving cream, and then used his thumb to wipe the excess from House's lips. House closed his eyes and tipped his head back, allowing Wilson to work. Periodically, the razor would leave, and House would feel Wilson's lips brush against his.

When Wilson was finished, there was a warm towel to wipe off the remaining bits of shaving cream. Then Wilson applied the aftershave. Then he took his time massaging in moisturizer, his skilled fingers lightly kneading the muscles in House's face. He leaned over one last time to kiss House, a leisurely exploration of each other's mouths. Finally he straightened up. "I'd better get going. He rolled down his sleeves, and as he walked into the bedroom, he buttoned up the cuffs of his shirt. As he finished dressing, he could see House slowly getting out of the chair, his erection not completely hidden by the towel wrapped around his waist.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to stay longer?" House leered suggestively.

Wilson sighed. "I really can't. Doctors get cranky when their patients are late." He swerved to avoid House's half-hearted grab. "I'll see you at work."

House watched him until he was out the door, and then he limped over to the closet, an idea starting to form in his mind. In the time since Wilson had admitted his feeling, Wilson had started confessing to all the fantasies he had told his therapist, and today seemed appropriate for implementing fantasy number 7.

He rummaged around in the closet until he located his gray suit, purchased years ago when he and Stacy were in London for a nephrology conference. Damn, where was his blue shirt? He finally located it hanging with Wilson's dry-cleaning. When it came to locating a tie, he was at a loss. Finally he decided to borrow one of Wilson's. When it came to shoes, he slipped on his newest pair of Nike Shox, because frankly, snow, ice, dress shoes, and a cane just didn't mix, and Wilson's fantasy never said anything about what type of shoes he wore.

When he got to the hospital, Cuddy was standing at the entrance desk. "You're late." Then her brain caught up with what she was seeing. "Oh, God. We're being sued."

"I wouldn't know. Isn't that your purview?"

"You're going to court today?" she guessed.

"Nope. Hot date tonight," he replied, knowing she'd never believe the truth. He stepped on the elevator, just in time for it to close behind him.

When he got to his office, he immediately started working on the second half of his plan. He ignored the looks his team were giving him, knowing his appearance was probably the topic of their conversation.

He didn't see Wilson until that afternoon. Wilson was surrounded by a bunch of oncology interns who were hanging onto his every word. He didn't spot House until they were almost a few yards away. His jaw dropped and he stopped speaking in the middle of a sentence. He tried to recover, and House grinned at how adorably flustered his lover looked. As he passed the younger man, House murmured, "number seven," and from the heat that flared in Wilson's eyes, he knew that Wilson knew exactly what he was talking about.

At precisely 5 PM, Wilson was at House's office door, an unusual reversal of roles.

"Oh, you're ready to go," asked House, pretending that he was surprised by Wilson's punctuality.

Wilson rolled his eyes, not fooled in the least bit. "No reason why we can't leave on time for once."

House gathered his things, taking his time just to torture Wilson. When they reached the parking lot, House pulled out his keys. "Why don't I drive? I need to come in early tomorrow, so we can carpool in."

Wilson slid into the passenger seat, enjoying not having to drive for once. He was looking over at House, and not really paying attention to where they were going, when he suddenly realized that they weren't taking the usual route to House's apartment. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," House answered, making a left turn followed by a quick right, and then pulling up to the valet parking attendant. The doors were being opened, so Wilson was forced to step out of the vehicle. "Can't we just order a pizza or something?" he whispered.

"Oh come on Jimmy, where's your sense of romance? Besides, we can't back out now. This place will blacklist you if you cancel your reservations. I wouldn't want to do that seeing how the reservation's in your name."

Wilson looked around, and finally realized they were at one of his favorite restaurants. Linen tablecloths, fine china, and food that was out of this world. It just wasn't a place he'd ever thought that House would like. "OK, but you're buying."

House looked hurt. "Of course. How could you think otherwise?"

They entered the restaurant, and the maître d' seemed to be eyeing House's shoes with suspicion, as if such footwear couldn't possibly be entering _his_ restaurant. Then he sized up House's obviously expensive suit, and the dark mahogany cane, and decided to ignore the shoes. He lead them to a table in the back corner of the room. Surprisingly, he didn't bother handing them menus. Wilson looked up in surprise, but the man spoke first. "Everything will be exactly as you requested, Dr. Wilson."

Wilson nodded, pretending he knew what was going on. Obviously, House had planned something, and had used Wilson's name to do it. Almost immediately a waiter appeared and filled their water glasses. The sommelier appeared with a bottle of wine, which he opened, and after Wilson had nodded his approval, filled both of their wine glasses.

A second waiter appeared with two plates of a variety of appetizers, artistically arranged. It took him a moment to realize that something was different about his plate. When he glanced over at House's plate, he realized that something had been substituted for the usual pâté. He tried it, and could taste crab and possibly artichoke. Whatever it was, it was delicious. Much better than the pâté, which he hated. The plates were silently removed, and then a bowl of soup was placed in front of each of them—lobster bisque for Wilson and French onion, for House.

It was an unusual meal with House and Wilson enjoying the meal in companionable silence. There was no overly helpful waiters interrupting the meal. Every course was served silently and then was removed in the same manner.

It was one of the most romantic and, at the same time, frustrating experiences of his life. All day long, he had imagined being with House, taking his time to undress him, like unwrapping a treasured present. But now he was forced to sit across from House, watching the man savor the exquisite food with agonizing slowness. When he wasn't obsessing on House's lips, he thought about the meal he was enjoying. Wilson wondered if any of his wives could have pulled off a meal like this, and was forced to admit that only House, who had observed him for years, could have ordered a meal exactly as Wilson would have chosen it, down to the last detail. They were now having desert and coffee, and he looked over to House who was enjoying his chocolate soufflé with a expression that was almost sensual. From the gleam in House's eyes, Wilson knew that the sexual tension was all part of House's evil plan to torture him.

When the check came, House shoved several $100 bills into the leather folder, and then stood up, not even bothering to wait for change. House ransomed the car from the valet and then drove home with the same slow deliberation that had driven Wilson crazy all night.

When they finally arrived home, Wilson could wait no longer. As soon as the door closed, Wilson had House pressed up against the wall, their tongues dueling for dominance. His hands were clawing at their clothes, frantic with need.

Later when their heartrates were finally slowing and the sweat was cooling on their bodies, he heard House mumble, "I thought your fantasy was to slowly remove every single piece of my clothing. That's why you fantasized about me wearing a suit."

Wilson ruefully thought about their clothing, now lying crumpled on the floor. House's shirt missing at least one button. "Unfortunately, there's a fatal flaw with that fantasy. Thinking about it all day made it pretty much impossible to actually achieve. You complaining?"

House chuckled. "No. Just don't expect me to wear a suit everyday. Even if it does yield some rather fun results."

Wilson pretending to think about this. "Probably for the best. Wouldn't want anyone else to figure out how sexy you are."

House rolled his eyes at the compliment, but didn't say anything, choosing to roll over and drift off to a much needed sleep. The next morning, he regained consciousness with Wilson shaking his arm. "Go away," he mumbled.

"Sorry, House, but my car is at the hospital. Don't you have a meeting?"

"Don't care."

Wilson tried another tactic. "If you don't get up, I'll tell everyone how you planned a romantic dinner for the two of us. Your reputation as an evil bastard will be ruined forever."

"But then you'd have to admit we're dating each other."

"I don't care. It would totally be worth it to see Cameron's eyes go all misty."

House sighed, and pushed himself reluctantly out of bed, feeling every one of his 47 years. "But then you'd have competition for me."

Wilson grinned. "I think I already won that one. Plus, Cameron was in love with the person she thought you'd change into. I'm in love with you exactly as you are: sarcasm, cynicism and all."

House limped into the bathroom, not even fully awake. When he emerged, Wilson shoved a travel carafe of coffee into his hand. He took a drink, and the caffeine and sugar immediately made him feel human, even though the vicodin had yet to kick in. Knowing he was in no shape to drive, he handed over the keys to Wilson, wondering if today was the day when people at the hospital would clue in to the fact that they often arrived and left at the same time. Luckily, most people were too wrapped up in their own dramas to notice such details, and another day passed without anyone seeing what would have been completely obvious to House.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.

Chapter 7: Another Hospital Fundraiser

"Know what the best part about a man in a tuxedo is?" House murmured into Wilson's ear. "Knowing how much fun it will be to get him out of it, piece by piece."

At Greg's words, James's mouth went dry, and his fingers fumbled as he attempted to tie the black bow tie. Deftly, Greg reached over and did it for him. "Later," he whispered suggestively.

They were both standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, getting ready for the charity event at the hospital. Wilson looked at his lover appreciatively, before asking, "you're not going to shave?"

"Yeah right. If I did, Cuddy might decide to change her mind about auctioning me off tonight. It's risky even showing up."

Wilson was confused. "You mean you're NOT in the bachelor auction? I thought she told me that every department head who was single had been persuaded to sign up."

House grinned evilly. "That was before I made her a better offer: Chase and Foreman. You've gotta admit that they will raise a hell of a lot more cash than I would."

"You got them to agree to do this? How?"

"It may have involved a little blackmail, maybe a bet. It's really best you don't know the details," House hedged.

"If I had known it was that easy to get out of this…"

His wistful words were cut off by House. "Given the fact that this event is to benefit the pediatric oncology wing, every non-married doctor in your department was already committed for the event. You're just jealous because I had bargaining chips and you didn't."

Wilson sighed. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

When they arrived at the hospital, the event was in full swing. Wilson grimaced when he saw the runway that had been set up in the middle of the tables. House saw the look, and smirked in triumph at having avoided the fate of his colleagues. They made their way over to a table that was already occupied by Drs. Cameron, Foreman, and Chase. Wilson was even able to enjoy the dinner, distracted by the playful banter of House's minions, with the occasional sarcastic comment from House. House was in one of his rare mellow moods, and he enjoyed sitting back and watching House interacting with the others at the table. He watched the long fingers playing with the silver topped cane that had replaced the everyday wooden one. He imagined what those fingers would be doing to him tonight, and when House caught his eye, he knew that the other man was thinking the same thing. It was only when Cuddy stepped up to the microphone to begin the auction that he remembered what was about to happen in the next few minutes.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I would like to thank all of you for coming to the first annual bachelor auction, to benefit the renovation of the pediatric oncology ward of this hospital. I would like to thank all of the doctors who have graciously donated their time, and to the local businesses that have donated the meals and entertainment, so that each and every 'date' will be a truly memorable event for those of you lucky enough to win an auction. So remember, this is for a good cause, so dig deep into those pocketbooks!"

Wilson watched as his colleagues were called up the stage one by one, dreading the moment when his name would be called. Some were obviously ill at ease at being the center of attention, while others seemed to relish their time in the spotlight, strutting down the runway to the sound of catcalls from the audience. He watched in amusement as the bidding was fast and furious for Dr. Chase; the private tour of the natural science museum was probably not the main reason for the interest. Two bachelors later, Foreman was on the runway, egging on the bidders until he was "sold" for $3950, which was $100 dollars above the highest bid for his colleague.

And then, suddenly, it was his turn. He forced himself to get out of his chair and make his way up to the stage. As he walked down the runway, he tried to distract himself from the knot that was forming in his throat by listening to the words that Dr. Cuddy was saying. "Tonight's final bachelor is Dr. James Wilson, head of the oncology department here at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Dr. Wilson and the lucky winner will enjoy a romantic dinner for two at Gaston, one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. After dinner, you will have orchestra seats for the premiere of Le Traviata, followed by desert at Carruthers. Throughout the evening, transportation will be provided by AA limousine service. Bidding will start at $1000."

To Wilson's surprise, the bid price went up quickly. Maybe it was the fact that he was last bachelor of the evening, and therefore his auction was the last opportunity for people to give to such a worthy cause. Maybe there were opera lovers out there? He tried to look out into the audience to identify the women that were bidding on him. Finally it was down to two women: the octogenarian holding the number 35 placard was a regular at hospital charity events, but the younger woman holding number 128 was a newcomer. As the price climbed over five thousand dollars, Wilson felt slightly faint; no other bachelor had broken that number, and it looked like the bidding was going to close somewhere around six thousand dollars. The bidding was still going up in fifty dollar increments, but the younger woman was beginning to hesitate before upping the bid. Finally, Cuddy was about to close the bidding at $6,250 when a new voice came from the back of the room, "I bid $10,000."

The outrageously high bid was completely unexpected, and suddenly the room was alive with people whispering. Wilson was unsuccessful at keeping a goofy looking grin from spreading across his face. Eventually Dr. Cuddy regained the power of speech, "OK, we have a bid of $10,000 from Dr. Gregory House. Do I hear a bid for $10,050? No? Then Dr. Wilson is sold to," she seemed to stumble for a moment before continuing, "Dr. House for $10,000. This concludes tonight's auction. I want to thank you all for coming. Tonight we have raised over $200,000 for refurbishing the pediatric oncology wing. Thank you for your generous support, and enjoy the rest of the evening."

As she was leaving the stage, she caught up with Dr. Wilson. She was still trying to formulate a sentence, when he shrugged and said, "well, I guess this means we're going public now." As her jaw dropped, he smiled weakly and turned to go across the room.

When Wilson returned to the table, the ducklings were still looking stunned, while House just smirked, enjoying their reactions. Wilson sat down, and something in their body language must have confirmed something for Dr. Chase, who finally asked, "does this mean that you two are," he searched for the right word, "together?"

James merely nodded, but it was Greg who answered, "well, duh! You think I would pay that much money just to go to the opera?" He leaned back in satisfaction. "Told you that we would find out who Wilson was sleeping with tonight."

Immediately Chase and Forman sighed and reached for their wallets and Cameron opened up her evening bag. Almost in unison, three hundred-dollar bills were handed across the table. "You bastard," exclaimed Cameron, except that she was giggling as the words were spoken. "You planned this all along."

"Again. Duh!" House exclaimed. "I had to do something to help pay for the massively expensive date I just purchased."

Wilson was laughing along with the rest of them. "So is this how you persuaded Chase and Forman to participate in this meat-market of an auction?"

Chase was quickly coming to the realization that he had again been manipulated by a master, "no that would be the bet on whether you were sleeping with anyone, which was oh so conveniently confirmed the next day by a hickey on your neck!" He turned to Cameron, "you're right, he is a bastard." And once again, everyone at the table was laughing.

The End

Author's note: I hope you have enjoyed this story. I had a lot of fun writing it. Thank you to everyone who has followed this story, and has been kind enough to review or add this story to their favorites list. Now for a shameless, self-promoting plug. I have just posted the first chapter of Two Wishes. This is the very long (30 chapters!) story that took over my brain in the middle of finishing A Screwed Up Relationship.


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